


Gotham: Birth of Heroes and Villains

by wonderlandiscrumbling



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Retelling, Romance, Slight horror, Violence, more characters and ships as time goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-04-30 10:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14495037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlandiscrumbling/pseuds/wonderlandiscrumbling
Summary: The night that Thomas and Martha Wayne are murdered everything changes forever. An event that has a domino effect on the city and its occupants, turning one boy onto the path of becoming a hero. While giving others the means and drive to start down an evil path.





	1. A Shot in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so....This story is going to touch and go cover Gotham as a whole. To an extent I'm retelling the story the TV show has laid out, but from a more so comic book related place of origin. I will add more characters to the list as time goes on as well as more pairings, this will be an extremely long fic and I promise I will do my best to update it as regularly as possible (between work and occasional writers block)
> 
> Any questions or ideas are always more than welcome, I promise this will pick up sooner than later though. Enjoy :)

The cataclysmic event that changed Gotham city forever came in the form of two gunshots and an anguished scream.

A young boy exited the theater with his parents, holding their hands, and still riding the high of excitement from seeing one of his favorite heroes onscreen; Lone Ranger. He always thought of his father as a hero, like the ones in the movies they went to see each weekend when his father wasn’t too wrapped up in his work. As far as Bruce was concerned, his father was a hero, saving lives, and changing the world to become a safer place. Often his father would tell him bedtime stories, urban legends about a Court of Owls, stories about demons, and ancient beings, stories about heroes who could fight such evils. Bruce considered his father to be one of those heroes, always there to chase off the things that went bump in the night. 

He never would have guessed as they took a shortcut down a nearby alleyway that his world would be changed forever.  
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Selina Kyle swerved through the throngs of people on the busy sidewalk, shoving people out of her way to escape the man she had just pickpocketed. She could feel the weight of the wallet in her jeans pocket, he was a well-dressed man, he smelled of over priced cologne she knew had to cost him good couple hundred dollars. She hadn’t the slightest clue why a man like that was in one of the worst parts of the city, an area with a high crime rate. As far as she was concerned it served him right to have his wallet snatched by a child, but still she worried what might happen if by chance he caught up with her.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt a slight grip on the hood of her jacket, his fingers curling into the fabric as he pulled her backwards. She began to lose balance, stumbling then nearly falling; she turned quickly on her heel, retrieving a pocket knife from her pocket. She sliced the blade across his exposed forearm, his eyes widened, and he howled with pain releasing his grip on her and stumbling back.

“You cut me, you little bitch!” He yelled as he glared at her, right hand pressed firmly over the cut on his left arm.

She smiled sweetly as she pocketed her knife, turned, and ran back into the safe coverage people provided. She turned down an alley, a nice shortcut especially if she could get up the fire escape and onto the room before anybody caught sight of her. 

Just as she pulled the ladder down and began her quick ascent upwards she heard voices. She kept her pace quick, movements quiet to avoid easy detection. Her steps were featherlight as she walked across the platform, crouching and watching the people down below, perhaps if she was brave enough she could try to pickpocket them as well, or even throw on the old scared child act, it was a growing favorite.

She watched as a man and woman walked down the alleyway, both dressed to the nines, a more than well off family. The two looked happy, between them was a young boy who appeared close to Selina’s age. His hair was a curly mop of dark brown hair that almost covered his bright brown eyes, the suit he wore nearly matching his fathers. She felt a strange pang in her heart watching the family, a family was the one thing she’d never had the pleasure of having. Of course, there had been the occasional foster families, but they grew bored of her or grew to hate her sooner or later. Always chucking her back into the system like she was recyclable garbage. She pushed back her thoughts on stealing from them, why ruin their night?

“Give me your wallet.” A gruff voice barked.

The family froze, their smiles dropping. The boy looked scared as he clutched his parents hands. Selina watched the scene unfold suddenly feeling frozen to the spot. She watched as the father took a step forward, hands raised up in front of himself as if to signal he meant the armed man no harm, but the mugger wasn’t having any of that. She watched as he demanded the pearl necklace the woman wore; the woman touched the pearls obviously terrified and still processing what was unfolding. Panic and dread filled Selina as she watched them. She knew that eight out of ten times the gun was a fake, sometimes the safety was on or it wasn’t even loaded; the gun was for show, but by the sound of this man’s voice she knew this wasn’t a bluff. A part of her brain screamed at her to do something, she looked around her surroundings almost looking for a way she could swing down and kick the mugger in the back of the head, knock him out long enough for the family to escape, but honestly, she found herself to scared to even stand let alone act as a hero.

She jumped when the gun went off, gasping as she watched the father stumble back, his eyes widening as he looked down at his chest. The young boy looked at his father then at the gun man, tears streaming down his face, the wife screamed as she clung onto her son. Selina closed her eyes turning her head away when the second shot went off, she could hear the body thud against the wet concrete. She silently counted the seconds, waiting for the third gunshot, waiting for the boy to be next, but it never came. She opened her eyes again to see the man turn and run down the alley, her eyes drifted back to the boy. Her own silent tears ran down her cheeks as she watched the kid drop to his knees between the still bodies of his parents and let out a gut wrenching scream. 

Mechanically she climbed to her feet, her movements instinct more than anything else as she made her way to the roof of the apartment complex. She looked once more over the ledge at the boy in the alley.

“I’m sorry kid” She whispered to herself before turning and running off into the night.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jim Gordon was silent as he rode in the patrol car with Harvey Bullock. He’d been working for the GCPD for only one week, been assigned to be partners with a man he could hardly stand, and he had to say he was at his limit of what he was willing to tolerate. He watched out the passenger side window, watched the blurs of buildings and lights, of people. Spotted at least three hookers, one being picked up by a government official; he’d seen muggings and drug deals, frustration that he wasn’t sure he could even make a dent in any of this filling him. He felt nearly useless and now they were headed to a mugging gone wrong. Apparently, a husband and wife had been murdered after seeing a movie at the theater across the street. Harvey kept most of the details to himself, not for any real purpose other than a sense of not caring.

As the car came to a stop he spotted two other cruisers and a fancy black car, he felt it was safe to assume that it belonged to a relative. 

Jim got out of the car, Harvey following a moment after. He watched as the portly man came around to his side of the car, lit cigarette already hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Harvey took a drag before pulling it out holding it between his index and middle finger, he gestured towards the taped off crime scene as if it were some extravagant gift.

“Hell, of a way to end your first week, isn’t it?” He asked, shit eating grin on his face as he looked at his reluctant partner.

“Double homicide, mugging gone wrong.” He responded plainly, he didn’t even want to pretend to take part in the game.

Harvey rolled his eyes, took another drag from his cigarette before clapping his hand against Jim’s shoulder. “Not just any homicide, the murder of freaking Thomas and Martha Wayne.”

Jim knew the name, Wayne. He looked at the crime scene again, white sheets laid over the bodies, blood soaked into the ground that with enough time and rain would wash away permanently, all of this to become just another faded memory in the city. If he was correct, Thomas Wayne was a physician; a man with possibly too much wealth and power in the city.

Next, he spotted something his partner hadn’t mentioned; on a set of stairs sat a young boy, blanket thrown over his shoulders.

“Is that their son?” Jim asked pointing towards the kid.

Harvey looked over, nodded in confirmation. He tossed his cigarette to the ground snuffing it out with the toe of his shoe. “Yeah, his name is Bruce if I remember right.” He laughed shaking his head. “Shit, it’s been ages since I’ve seen the kid, he’s gotten bigger.”

Jim looked skeptically at his partner. “Did you know them?”

“Eh you can say that I guess, not on the best of terms if I’m being honest. I got called in cause of a break in at their ridiculously huge mansion, wasn’t a great experience. Shit the kid had to be like five when that happened, he looks a lot like his dad.” 

He felt like asking more about the break in, about why the family might have disliked or even hated Bullock, but frankly after spending a week working with him he wasn’t too sure how anybody liked Bullock. 

“I’m going to go ask him some questions, see what he knows, make sure he’s alright.” Jim said, already walking away from Harvey.

He ducked under the yellow police tape, careful as he moved around the crime scene and approached the boy. He crouched in front of him knowing the best tactic with kids was to get on their level, never tower over them and make them feel threatened or belittled.

“Bruce?” He asked, voice soft as he smiled at the kid.

Bruce lifted his head just barely meeting the cop’s eyes. Jim noticed he was shivering, from the cold, from the shock of what he’d just witnessed. He didn’t expect the kid to talk much if at all, some kids stopped talking for years after witnessing what he just did.

“I’m Jim Gordon, is it okay if I ask you some questions?”

The boy was silent, he looked over Jim’s shoulder towards the crime scene then back towards the man in front of him.

“Yes” He whispered.

“Okay, good. Can you tell me what the man said?”

Bruce looked down, fingers clutching at the blanket as he pulled it more tightly around himself. “He….He wanted my dad’s wallet, he took my mom’s necklace.” He quietly responded.

As far as Jim could tell the thief had gotten the wallet, but the pearls were scattered all over the ground, shining in the moonlight. He wondered if perhaps a struggle caused him to panic, caused him to fire the gun.

“Anything else?” 

Bruce shook his head, he closed his eyes tightly for a moment as if trying to hide from the sounds of sirens and cops talking about his parents bodies. Jim wished there was a better place to question the kid, he knew this setting wasn’t helping. Cautiously he placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, the boy looked at him.

“It’s going to be okay. I know how scary this is, how devastating it is. When I was about your age I lost my father in a car accident, but you have to stay strong for them. For yourself. I’m going to do my best to find the man who did this and bring him to justice, I know right now you don’t feel like answering any questions, and that’s okay. You did just fine answering the one, I’ll leave my number, and when you’re ready we can go over everything, okay?”

The boy watched him intently, he gave a short shake of his head, brown curls falling over his eyes. Jim smiled before climbing to his feet. 

“Bruce!”

Bruce’s eyes lit up as he jumped up and ran past Jim. Jim turned to see who had called for the boy, he watched as the child ran towards a man who appeared to be somewhere in his upper forties. He assumed this man was a relative, the owner of the fancy black car parked along the street. He watched as the two hugged, the man clutching onto Bruce as if he’d been terrified of never seeing him again. He decided it was best to hang back for a moment while they reunited, he knew how difficult this night had to be.

After a moment the unknown man approached Jim, Bruce trailing close behind him. The man in question was admittedly handsome, a bit rugged, but doing his best to look put together. 

“James Gordon” He introduced himself holding out his hand to the other man.

He gave a small smile as he grasped Jim’s hand giving it a firm shake, his skin felt calloused, and Jim wondered what sort of work he did for a living. “Alfred Pennyworth”

“Are you a relative?”

“No, not exactly. I’m more or less the butler, family friend really. I’m listed as an emergency contact. Do you have any idea who did this?” 

“No, not yet. I was hoping perhaps in a few days when Bruce is feeling more up to it then we can ask him some questions, until then we’re going to just check and see if there were any witnesses before or after the crime.” 

Alfred nodded, a sad solemn look on his face. Jim wondered how long he’d known the family for, if he’d been a friend before becoming an employee or if he’d been employed by them first. Not that any of it was important to the case, just his own natural curiosity about people that he came across.

“Is it okay then if I take master Bruce home then?”

“Yes of course, try to take care.” 

Bruce looked from Alfred to Jim once more before turning and following the butler towards the waiting car.

Jim sighed heavily, he ran his hand over his head remembering he still had the same buzz cut instead of the surfer hair he’d had before joining the army. He closed his eyes, the sounds of sirens and voices, the scent of blood and exhaust taking him back to his own traumatizing moment. 

The sound of metal crunching, the jarring sensation as the car slammed into them. His own screams as he looked over at his father, the blood that coated his face. 

“Hey, Jim!” 

He snapped himself out of his thoughts turning his attention back to Bullock.

“Find anything out?”

“No, the kid wasn’t exactly up for answering questions.”

“Not much to find if you ask me, the Waynes are the wealthiest family in the city. Somethin’ like this was bound to happen.”

Jim doubted that. Nothing about this felt right, it felt and looked far too simplistic to be what happened. Deep down he knew that there was something more to this, but he knew his partner would be less than helpful on this case.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ride back home was deathly silent. Alfred glanced in the mirror to see Bruce sitting still, eyes focused on the window. His own mind was still racing. He’d known Thomas and Martha for years now, he’d been a part of their lives through everything. He gripped the steering wheel tightly thinking about all the things Thomas had done for him, all the times he’d stuck his neck out for him because he believed that deep down Alfred still had some good in him. 

If he had it his way he’d be the one in the body bag, not his friends. 

As they pulled into the massive drive of the manor he worried about Bruce. The boy was quiet, a normal first step of trauma he reminded himself. Sooner or later the screaming and crying would happen all over again, but for now it was the quiet. 

Alfred got out of the car, he went to the back opening the door and guiding Bruce out of the car and up to the house. He almost considered just carrying him, but he wasn’t sure if the boy would object to that or not. He remembered when Bruce had been younger, all the nights he’d fall asleep on the couch watching TV or fall asleep waiting for his dad to come home; he used to pick him up and carry him up to bed. He glanced down at him, head hung, and the occasional sniffling. 

He already knew neither of them would be getting much sleep tonight, but still he felt they should at least try.

He led him up to his bedroom, flicking on the light then going to pick out pajamas for the boy. He laid them out on the bed, he turned to see Bruce still standing by the door, arms wrapped around himself.

“Come on master Bruce, time to change into your pajamas.”

Bruce didn’t move from the spot. “Why did he kill them?” He asked, voice broken.

Alfred swallowed hard, he looked away. “I-I don’t know, but I promise that he’ll be caught.”

“The cop, Gordon said the same thing….How do you know?”

He sighed heavily, “We don’t know, but the police will try their best to find him. They’re just going to need a bit of your help, alright?”

Bruce nodded, his silence resumed as he walked over to the bed picking up his pajamas. Alfred paused for a moment feeling like he should have some wise words, something comforting to say to him, but he was at a loss. Instead he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him before going downstairs, and into the kitchen. He opened the top cabinet retrieving a bottle of Jim Beam then a shot glass. He seated himself at the kitchen counter and poured himself a shot, downed it, then went for another. His hands trembled, tears blurring his vision.

His best friends were dead, murdered by some street trash. People who spent their lives helping those around them, who worked their asses off to try and make this city a safe place for not only their own son but other peoples children as well. He rubbed his hand over his face, a choked sob escaping him. He felt he’d never exactly gotten the proper chance to express to them how much he loved them, how they saved his life more than they could ever have known. A fear came over him as he realized now he was going to be left to take care of their son, he feared he would fail, that he’d ruin this like he ruined most things in his life.

Another shot and another, a warm sensation filling his gut. Making him forget, at least for a bit.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Jim was grateful to be off the streets and out of the precinct. Relieved to be away from Bullock and the other cops who joked about the Wayne murders, men and women who had no right to refer to themselves as cops with the way they behaved. 

He stood at the door, key clutched in his hand. He closed his eyes, sighed, and counted to ten.

‘Don’t bring the job home with you.’ His father’s words echoed in his head.

Wise words, but words he was scared he couldn’t live by. He would try though at least for tonight. He unlocked the door, turned the knob and entered the penthouse apartment. Immediately he was hit with the smell of Chinese takeout, pop music played on the stereo. He could hear a woman’s voice singing along, not good singing by any means, but the sound brought a smile to his face. He closed and locked the door behind him, hung his jacket up on the coat rack, and followed the singing.

Down the hall, first door on the left was open. Inside he found the source of singing, his fiancé. She stood with her back to him, long thick blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, hips swaying slightly to the beat of the music as she focused on the canvas before her. Jim stood in the doorway taking a moment to just appreciate this, this normalcy. Maybe he could leave the job at the door. 

He quietly entered the room, he stepped up behind her wrapping his arms around her waist. She jumped, but immediately leaned back against him as he began kissing against the side of her neck. She laughed, setting down her paint brush and turning in his arms to face him. Barbara looked up at him, a smile on her pink painted lips, and a lovely glimmer in her eyes as she looked at him. He chuckled as she playfully smacked his chest.

“You made me screw up my painting.” She pouted looking over her shoulder at her latest project.

Jim looked towards the canvas; streaks of reds and greens, triangles and squares, but nothing that made sense to him. He settled his hands against her hips, he looked back to her.

“Babe I’m not entirely sure what it was supposed to be, but I am sorry I made you mess it up.” He apologized before pressing a kiss against her forehead.

She sighed as she curled her fingers in the front of his dress shirt, “I suppose I forgive you, there’s Chinese in the kitchen if you’re interested.” 

“You know me well.”

“I’d prefer you eating a bit healthier, but I wasn’t in the mood to cook anything tonight.” 

“I love your cooking, but the vegan health craze crap not so much.”

She rolled her eyes at that, he kissed the tip of her nose.

“Look, right now you’re in good shape, but who knows in a year or two you could end up looking like Bullock or Barnes.” She teased, crinkling her nose.

Jim laughed, “You’d still love me.”

She tilted her head to the side looking at him, he could feel the love and adoration in her stare. Somedays it scared him, he realized he was with somebody who genuinely cared about him and wanted him around. He worried that he could die on the job, worried that he could somehow fuck this up, and break her heart. This wasn’t the time to scare himself over that though. 

“You’re right, but if you ever act like Bullock then I might have to kill you.” 

He leaned down kissing her deeply, she bit and sucked against his bottom lip making him moan.

“Deal” he whispered against her lips before kissing her again.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quietly he snuck into the dimly lit shop. His movements were careful and quiet or as quiet as he could be. He silently cursed his bad leg, dragging it like a dead weight as he walked through the shop. Birds squawked and chirped, some with curiosity and others with annoyance at the sudden intrusion, but this was habitual, so they should be used to this. He stopped at a cage containing a peach colored cockatoo, the bird bobbed its head, side stepping to get closer to the man it was familiar with. 

He smiled, an odd joy filling him when the birds sought him out. He was safety for them, a source of food and a source of friendship. He unlatched the cage door, opening it and holding out his arm for his feathered friend. After a moment of consideration, the bird found its new resting spot perched upon his forearm.

“Good girl” He whispered as he walked behind the counter, he seated himself upon the wooden bar stool kept near the cash register. 

The bird eyed him curiously, he gently pet it with his index finger. The noise died down as the birds came to realize fully that all was fine, they were safe, he’d always make sure they were safe.

“Did you notice the bruises my old friend, just another day on the job.” He responded to a question that was not asked, smiling fondly at the animal that walked further up his arm to be closer to him.

“I’m just hoping mom doesn’t notice, you know how she gets when I come back home looking like this.”

The bird jumped onto his shoulder. He got up from the stool and made his way to the mirror that hung upon the wall. He despised looking at his own reflection, but there were times he had to bite the bullet on that one.

He frowned as he looked at himself; his black hair was long in uneven cuts, fringe hanging down over his face. His left eye was slightly swollen, a small cut just an inch underneath it, his bottom lip was busted, and there were bruises on his neck. He knew the chance of covering this was makeup was slim to none, the bruises perhaps, but not the cuts. He snarled thinking about the man who had attacked him, a rude drunken bastard who thought he was important because he’d done a single job for Mooney. He smiled though as he remembered plunging his knife into the man’s gut again and again, the way his eyes had bulged, mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

Oswald sighed, he glanced at the bird on his shoulder. “He got what he deserved.” He stated simply.

He turned from the mirror and returned to the cage, gently he placed the bird back into its makeshift home. Perhaps he was just projecting, but the birds all looked sad in their cages. 

“I promise, one day I’m going to run this Hell hole of a city, and I’ll be sure you all have one large open space to claim as your own.” He smiled to himself “I’ll make sure mom has a place too, better than what we have right now. Good night my friends.” 

He headed towards the staircase in the back, again he did his best to be quiet as he went up. He cursed himself each time his foot came down too hard on a step, a couple of them he had to grab at his pant leg and pull his leg up, moving his own limb as if it were a puppet and he was the puppeteer. By the time he reached their door he was tired and sore, he unlocked the door and slipped inside shutting and locking it behind him. He glanced around the small living room, he didn’t see his mother. He sighed in relief glad that she was in bed, either tired from a long day of running her bird shop, or tired from a day of drinking, he prayed for the first. 

He went back to his own bedroom, closing and locking his door. He undressed throwing his bloodied white dress shirt into a waste basket, his mother had already had two clean three blood soaked shirts this week, three might raise questions. He pulled on a plaid pair of sleep pants and a black tank top before crawling into bed. 

Outside he could hear sirens, gunshots, and screams. For most these would be sounds impossible to fall asleep to, but for Oswald Cobblepot these were the sounds of home.


	2. Day of the Funeral

The attendance for the funeral of Thomas and Martha Wayne was spectacular. Most mourned, others whispered rumors amongst themselves. Mostly they fell silent as they watched Bruce accompanied by Alfred make their way through the crowd to the graves, attendees gave sad pitying glances at the boy. He could hear their whispers, words of ‘oh that poor boy, no parents’ and ‘this most be so traumatizing for him.’ The words frustrated him, he felt a lump in his throat as he stood at the graves of his parents, as he looked at the coffins. Tears filled his eyes as the full iron truth of the matter hit him; his parents were dead, shot by some thug, and inside these boxes were their bodies. A sob escaped him as he angrily wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his coat, Alfred patted his shoulder in a small attempt to console him. He could feel their eyes on him, their whispers resuming, and he just felt like screaming. 

The service was torture to get through, all of it was torturous really. Every person who had talked about his parents hadn’t really known them, none of them genuinely cared. They were men who he recalled often asking his father for loans, asking him to fund their new ideas no matter how awful they may be. He could count all the ones his parents often made jokes about when they weren’t around, he knew these people didn’t care, but they wanted to sound like they knew Bruce’s parents better than the others. As if this were a contest for them, a contest of vultures. 

He wanted to feel guilty for his harsh and judgmental thoughts, but he couldn’t help the deep-seated anger that he felt towards these people. Each one that spoke softly their words of condolences, a few men handing him their business cards claiming they were there for him, but he knew they just wanted in good with the only son of Thomas Wayne. Despite his young age these people already saw him as a businessman, they planned and imagined who he’d grow up to be; he hoped he could be the opposite of whatever they wanted from him.

The only familiar face he found himself remotely happy to see was that of James Gordon.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jim felt a certain sense of annoyance with the people who attended the funeral. He listened in on their conversations hearing how they talked about the Wayne boy as if there was something wrong with him, as if he hadn’t just seen his parents die. They talked about Wayne Enterprises, they talked about the family’s fortune, and the money Thomas had often loaned or donated. These were the types of people who attended funerals of the rich and powerful as a statement, a way to look important, they didn’t care about the family.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Barbara hooked her arm with his, he looked down at her forcing a smile. 

“Terrible people, aren’t they?” She asked as she looked around at the other mourners.

He found himself nodding in agreement, he couldn’t say she was wrong. He was relieved to hear somebody say what he’d been thinking.

“Do you know any of them?” He asked curiously.

Barbara looked around, lips pursed as she hummed to herself. A small smile tugged at her lips as she casually pointed towards a small gathering of people consisting of two middle aged men and a woman who looked to be close to their own age. “I don’t know them exactly, but I’ve seen them around at the gallery and a few social gatherings. They used to try and start rumors about Thomas Wayne, something about malpractice and him knowing the Falcone family.” 

Jim raised an eyebrow at the mention of the Falcone family, he turned back to his fiancé.

“Falcone, Carmine Falcone?”

She nodded, “Yep the supposed not mobster who owns several restaurants and massage parlors in the city. I don’t know if the rumors were true, people always talked about seeing Thomas and Martha out with Carmine, but I never saw any proof…..Do you think it might be true?” She inquired, eyes lighting up at the possibility that she accidentally stumbled onto something far more interesting than the gossip of the bored and rich.

He pondered the possibility, but it felt like too much of a risk to go off gossip. He knew it was something he could ask Bullock about, he’d been in the city for so long he would know every rumor, and fact there was. Yet he wasn’t entirely sure his partner would be willing to disclose information if it involved Falcone, he seemed to always stray away when it came to the business of the local mobsters. Most days Jim found himself wishing he’d been partnered up with somebody else, somebody like Galavan perhaps, but fate seemed to have it out for him.

“Isn’t that the Wayne boy, Bruce?” Barbara asked tugging at Jim’s arm.

He looked to see it was in fact Bruce; he stood at the graves, head hung and hands balled into fists. Behind him stood Alfred, still he looked sad, and beyond lost. Jim couldn’t imagine the impact this had on them both.

“Let’s go say hello” He quietly suggested as they began walking towards the pair.

Bruce looked up in his direction, the smallest hint of a smile appearing on the boy’s face as he caught sight of them. Jim gave a small wave and a smile of his own.

“Hello Bruce, Alfred…..This is my fiancé Barbara Kean.” He greeted and introduced.

Barbara smiled softly at them, Alfred gave a curt nod. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” Bruce said holding out his hand to her.

She took hold of his hand shaking it, “I wish we could meet under better circumstances…..I know you’ve heard it a hundred times today, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you.” He responded, he turned his attention back to Gordon. “I was thinking that perhaps this Wednesday you could stop by and ask the questions you have.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, “I want him caught, the longer I put off helping you then the more likely he is to get away or hurt somebody else.” 

“Okay, I can stop by Wednesday, maybe around noon?”

“That would be fine, thank you again for your help, and for being here.” 

Despite his age Jim noticed a serene sense of maturity about Bruce, he knew likelihood it was a façade. He’d had his own façade back after his father had died, his father’s friends, and his own family members telling him he was the man of the house now. Always telling him to be strong, complimenting him on holding himself together at his father’s funeral, he’d not been a child to them anymore. He hoped for Bruce’s sake he would realize that it was okay to break down, it was healthier than pretending he was fine. 

They watched as Bruce and Alfred disappeared into the crowd. Barbara rest her head on Jim’s shoulder as she took hold of his hand lacing their fingers together.

“Poor kid, I can’t imagine what he’s going through losing his parents like that.” 

Jim gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I can” he whispered.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The great Thomas Wayne was dead, the news of the murder of him and his wife spreading through the city like wildfire. The news hit hard in the underworld; petty thieves and wannabe gangsters claiming they were the ones who murdered the couple. While in the upper tier of mobsters there was a different sort of chaos. 

Oswald did his best to hide his smile as he stood obediently to the side watching his boss throw one Hell of a tantrum. He side stepped as a martini glass sailed past his head, shattering against the red painted wall. 

Fish Mooney paused in her pacing, she closed her eyes as she began rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “It’s fine….I had nothing to do with this.” 

His boss’s foul mood was caused by one of her newest hires bragging he’d been the one hired to kill the Waynes. A dumb boy, a recent college dropout who couldn’t even carry out a simple robbery without messing it up, but he claimed with ease that he’d been the one to pull the trigger. 

“If I may Ms. Mooney,” Oswald started as he took a step forward.

She glared in his direction, sighed, then motioned for him to step closer.

“Falcone will hardly believe John killed the Waynes, he’s a bumbling idiot.” 

She looked at Oswald for a moment before moving closer to him, he tensed as she placed a hand against his cheek, well manicured nails biting into his skin.

“I know that, but the old man is already on my ass, somebody has been snitching. Telling Falcone about my plans, John seems like a likely culprit.” 

Oswald smiled sweetly at his boss, his heart pounded in his chest as he stared into her eyes. He wondered if she suspected him, but no there was no way. He’d covered his tracks well, she wouldn’t suspect him of any of this.

“Would you like me to take care of John?” He asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.

On occasion he got the pleasure of disposing of those that crossed Mooney, he hoped that perhaps this could be one of those times.

“Sure, you’ve been good lately, just make sure he doesn’t get too loud. I don’t need the damn customers asking questions.” 

He nodded, muttering a thank you as he stepped back and turned away from her. As he exited the main room and went to the back he reached up to touch the scratches on his cheek, he hissed at the stinging pain. 

“Bitch” he muttered to himself as he pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket, he selected one and inserted it into the lock. 

The room that he entered was sparsely decorated, dimly lit, and quite stereotypical of a torture room set up by the mob. He sighed as he closed and locked the door behind him. In the center of the room was a wooden chair, tied down to the chair was John. The young man’s blue eyes widening as he noticed Oswald, he screamed around the gag in his mouth as he began thrashing around. 

Oswald slowly approached him, he hooked his fingers under the white cloth. “Scream and I cut out your tongue.” He coldly warned, the other man nodded. 

Once the gag was removed John didn’t scream, but instead began rambling. “Why are you doing this, this is an act right?” He asked laughing nervously.

He ignored his words, he retrieved a switch blade from his inside jacket pocket, he flicked it open and smiled as he watched the light reflect upon its smooth metal surface. 

“Ozzie come on man, we fucking know each other! You’re the one who told me to brag about the hit, you said you’d have my back.”

He turned his attention back to his ‘friend’. “I lied” He responded simply as he approached him.

The thrashing resumed, the confused fear from before turned into heated rage as John threatened to kill him. Oswald laughed at the threats, he was tied to a chair with a limited time to live; he had no way of hurting anybody.

“Now what did I tell you about screaming?” He asked as he dug his fingers against his jaw holding his head still.

He dragged the blade across his skin starting from his right cheek bone and stopping at the corner of his mouth. He repeated the action with the left side of his face, humming to himself as he listened to John’s whimpers and cries of pain. He reached into his gaping mouth grabbing hold of his tongue, the other man tried to jerk away, Oswald dug his thumb nail in against the surface of his tongue as he pulled it outwards. He smiled brightly as he pressed the edge of the blade against the top of his tongue, sawing through as he listened to the melody of screams. 

“There we are”

He stepped away holding the bloodied appendage between his thumb and index finger, he looked at it before tossing it to the floor. 

John was quieter now, head bowed, breathing labored. Oswald grabbed a fistful of his dirty blond hair violently jerking his head back. 

“I really am sorry about all this, but what you did for me is more than appreciated.” 

He meant those words at least, John’s diversion kept him out of Mooney’s line of sight at least for now. He pressed a kiss against his forehead before plunging his blade into his jugular, he closed his eyes as blood splattered across his face with each hard stab. He stepped away from the prone body, took a moment to admire his handiwork before turning and exiting the room. Outside he was greeted by a hulking mass of a man who eyed him suspiciously.

“He dead?” Cyrus asked looking towards the door.

“Yes, quite dead. It might take awhile for you to clean up the mess I made, sorry about that.” He apologized as he pushed past the man.

As he walked away he could feel Cyrus staring at him, the man always suspected him of being up to no good. Even if he was up to no good he still took offense that this man always expecting the worst out of him. 

He softly sang to himself as he made his way into the employees only restroom. He grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser before stopping at the sink, he kept his focus on what he was doing ignoring the mirror in front of him. He dampened the paper towels then began cleaning the blood from his face and neck. He watched as blood washed down the drain, a pastel pink as it mingled with water and soap. He sighed knowing he wouldn’t get himself as thoroughly cleaned as he could at home, but he still had another hour of kissing Mooney’s ass before he could go home.

Once he was mostly satisfied with himself he tossed the towels into the trash bin then exited the bathroom. As he passed by the torture room he glanced in to see Cyrus mopping the floor, the man angrily muttering to himself. Oswald couldn’t help but smile, he loved inconveniencing him.   
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jim was relieved to be home again. Still the events of the funeral hung heavy in his mind, a complicated mixture of memories of his own father’s death, and the knowledge that even if he found who murdered Bruce’s parents it still would never heal that pain. Despite wanting to relax he found himself jotting possible suspects into a notebook. His handwriting messy, the cheap ink smearing as his hand touched the page. 

“Babe it’s late, I appreciate your dedication, but you need a break.” Barbara said taking the book away from him.

He turned to face her, he started to grab for the book, but she backed away from the couch holding the notebook above her head, a teasing smile on her face. 

“In an hour you can have it back, but for now I want you to just relax.” 

He got up from the couch and walked towards her, he reached for the book again, but missed by an inch as she moved away from him again. 

“Come on, please I think I have something here.” 

She lowered the book, flipping it open and glancing over his notes. “You have names and a lot of question marks by your theories, maybe I can help?”

“You don’t have to” 

She closed the book holding it against her chest. “I want to, I don’t want to feel like you have a life I’m not a part of.” 

He stepped closer placing a hand against her cheek, she leaned into his touch nuzzling against the palm of his hand. He smiled softly as he looked down at her, she really was something breath taking, he never wanted his issues to drive her away.

“I’m trying, I just don’t want to fuck this up.” He said honestly.

He didn’t know how to balance things, he wasn’t his father.

She placed her hand over top of his, “You won’t fuck anything up, I trust you Jim. You’re a good man, sexy, charming, and funny….I’m marrying you for a reason. Just don’t push me away.” 

“I won’t” He said honestly as he leaned down kissing her deeply.

She pulled back. “Good, now how about we go take a nice hot bath.” She offered as she took hold of his hand leading him back towards the bathroom.

The notebook was now more than forgotten as he followed her.


	3. Invisible

There were benefits to being practically invisible, Oswald thought to himself as the cab pulled up to the curb. He looked out the window and up at his destination; a large hill, upon the top sat a large mansion. He smiled to himself, heart racing as he thought over the potential risks of everything he was doing now and everything he’d been doing for the past three months. He reached into his jacket pocket and fished out the money, he handed it off to the driver then exited the vehicle. He approached the large black iron gates, to the left side was a button and a speaker, he pressed, and held down the button announcing himself. A moment later the gates opened allowing him access.

When one was invisible they could do almost anything their heart desired. One could lead two or more lives if they wished, vastly different lives, and nobody would be the wiser. For him he could help his mother out with her bird shop, be her miracle child who could do no wrong. In his other life he could be Fish Mooney’s umbrella boy, accompany her to meetings, carry her bags for her, and massage her feet. Recently though he’d discovered a third life, a much more exhilarating life; a life that only an invisible man could lead.

Anxious excitement filled him as he approached the front door of the manor, as he raised his hand to knock the door opened. In the doorway stood a man close to his age and slightly taller than himself, he was clad in all black, alopecia areata left him devoid of hair; his dark brown eyes studied Oswald as if he was trying to read him. Sometimes admittedly, Victor Zsasz could leave Oswald feeling unnerved, but mostly irritated and amused. 

“What do you want?” Victor asked.

“I’m here to see Falcone, I had assumed he told you he’s expecting me.” He responded, irritation tinting his words.

Still Zsasz stood blocking his path, still staring. Oswald rolled his eyes, he took it upon himself to shove past the other man and enter the main hall of the mansion. Victor smirked shaking his head as he closed the door behind them.

“Y’know you’re sort of a dick sometimes.” He commented as he moved to stand beside Oswald.

“Says the man with the maturity of a teenager. Where’s Falcone?”

“In the study, he’s got Sophia in there with him.”

Oswald tensed, he closed his eyes. Zsasz chuckled at his reaction, he clapped his hand on his shoulder causing Oswald to jump.

“Knew you’d love hearing that.”

Being invisible was great, until somebody saw you that was. For him Sophia Falcone felt like she was on the verge of becoming a problem; a young woman about his own age, recently home from college for reasons neither she nor her father wished to delve into. To most she seemed overly sweet, polite, and rather stunning. Oswald though, he could see right through her.

He took a moment to compose himself before following Zsasz into the study. As expected Carmine sat behind a large desk, he was looking over paperwork while Sophia sat on a chair across from him, her dark eyes glancing over her father’s work. 

“Penguin’s here” Zsasz announced, Oswald shot him a look.

“Oswald, you’re early.” Carmine sounded the mildest bit pleased as he looked up at the young man. 

He motioned for him to come sit, Oswald nodded and approached the desk. He grabbed the spare chair next to Sophia’s and dragged it to the other side of the desk before seating himself, he could feel her glaring at him.

“I do my best to be early sir, I’d hate to keep you waiting.”

Oswald would be a liar if he ever said that a part of him didn’t respect Carmine Falcone. There wasn’t a mobster or wannabe mobster in the city that didn’t respect or fear him in some regard, but it still didn’t change the course of the game. A game everybody was taking part in, Carmine’s daughter included.

“Good, does Mooney know that you’re here?”

“No, she hasn’t the slightest clue that I’m here right now. As far as she’s concerned I’m completely loyal to her.”

For her there was almost no reason to question his loyalty. She’d found him when he’d been a teenager, as far as she was concerned she was his mother, his protector, and guardian. She taught him everything he needed to know when it came to proper survival on the streets, how to be a thief without getting caught, how to clean up after a murder no matter how much of a mess there was. Once all of this was said and done he knew he’d miss her, but still this all had to be done.

“Has she mentioned anything lately about who she might be working with?”

“She seems to be keeping most of her business between herself and Cyrus Gold, but the Wayne murders have her quite paranoid.”

Carmine leaned back in his chair, a sad smile playing on his lips. “It is quite the tragedy, I knew the Waynes. Thomas was a good man, a loyal man.”

Oswald nodded in agreement, he’d never met neither of them, but he had known the Waynes had a connection to Falcone. Really, they had a connection to anybody who mattered, if there was money, and opportunity then Thomas Wayne had an involvement. For a man who cared about the city, about improving it, he’d had quite a few enemies and friends in all the wrong places. He smiled to himself as he realized the cops and the press would be finding out all about that sooner or later through investigating the murder.

“I’ve heard that he was, it’s a shame I was never able to meet him.” 

There was a slight truth to his words, Thomas Wayne would have been an interesting man to know, an ally to be had, but the game had to be played.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Selina climbed through the window of the apartment. Quietly and carefully she walked through the living room and into the connected kitchen. She heard no sounds from within the apartment, for days she’d been watching the place, watching the man’s habits until she had them down to memory. Monday through Friday he worked from ten in the morning until seven at night, on weekends he’d leave for hours at a time usually at night; she knew she had plenty of time to raid his fridge, take a shower, and then steal whatever valuables he may have. 

She sat her backpack down on the counter, she opened cabinets taking out boxes and cans of food, stuffing snacks and anything easy to make into her bag. She picked out foods for herself, but also ones for the other kids. Food for the kids who couldn’t fend for themselves or steal the way that she could, in a sense she felt like Robin Hood, except she never felt like she had a real goal. Truthfully, she just enjoyed stealing, it felt like it was something embedded in her DNA.

She zipped up the bag, she slung it over her shoulder and made her way through the apartment. She opened the first door on the left finding the main bedroom; she carefully went through drawers, stealing a few shirts that would be perhaps too large, but she could make them into something else sometime. She found some emergency funds hidden in the underwear drawer, an expensive watch and a class ring on the bedside table. The man didn’t have a lot, but something was always better than nothing. 

After showering and re-dressing, she grabbed her finds and was back out the window again. She went up the fire escape and onto the rooftop, her movements quick and calculated as she ran to the edge and jumped across the gap, landing with ease on the next rooftop. Her mind was blank, focused solely on her goal; she found years ago that if she thought too much about her chance of making each jump then she was at a higher risk for mistakes, for falling to her death. She knew with the life she lived, with being a street kid that sooner or later she would meet her death, but she was personally hoping for it to be much later. She always liked to picture herself becoming a master thief, moving up to bigger heists; stealing paintings and diamonds, items worth not just hundreds or a couple thousand, but items worth millions. If she worked hard enough and honed her skills she could even have one of the penthouses the rich people had, she could have everything they told her she didn’t deserve to have when she’d been at the orphanage.

Down another fire escape and this time into a glassless window. She tossed her backpack onto a beaten-up couch, she smiled to herself as the sound of meows echoed in the small apartment. 

“Told ya guys that I’d be back.” 

She knelt holding her hand out to the two cats that ran up to her, both nudging and nuzzling against her hand purring loudly. She felt at ease, comforted, and happy as she pet the cats and talked to them. Unlike people, her cats didn’t judge her; she knew she ran the risk of becoming the crazy cat lady someday, but she didn’t care. As long as she took care of them then they kept her all the company she would need.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being invisible was a horrific and suffocating feeling. The sensation that you weren’t being listened to, that you didn’t matter, and didn’t have a place or a purpose in the world. The sense that no matter what you did or said, nobody heard you, nobody cared.

“Nygma, what the Hell did I tell you about being in here without supervision?”

Ed jumped back from the examination table, heart beating faster as he looked towards the GCPD’s medical examiner; a man in his mid 60s who lived in a constant state of agitation. Currently his agitation was aimed towards Ed.

“I-I just wanted to see something, I think that you were wrong about this being a suicide.” He explained himself, he pointed towards the cadaver laid out on the metal table top.

The corpse in question belonged to a man in his 40s, bruises around his neck in a perfect collar left behind from the noose that had been tied around his neck when the cops had found him. Automatically it had been ruled a suicide, the cops as well as the precincts M.E. seeing no point in actually looking further into the case. Ed’s curiosity had led him to sneak into the examination room to look for clues.

“He was found hanging in his apartment.” 

“Yes, bu-but….But he-“ Ed cleared his throat, he composed himself as he once more approached the table. 

He gently took hold of the man’s left hand lifting it up so that the over hanging light cast upon pale marbling skin. 

“There’s blood caked under his fingernails, the way his neck is broken indicates that there was a struggle, and there wasn’t a suicide note found at the crime scene.” 

The M.E. approached him, eyes glaring up at him from behind thick framed glasses. Ed swallowed hard as he stared down at the man.

“It was a suicide, now get the Hell out of here before I report you again.”

He felt the urge to argue, to tell him that he was wrong, and that he couldn’t talk to him like this. Yet he remained silent, nodded and quickly removed his gloves and apron. He kept his head lowered as he hurried out of the room quietly closing the door behind him. 

As he walked through the precinct he had several officers shove into him and right before he reached the locker room one attempted to trip him. 

There was a torture to being invisible. 

He laughed to himself as he closed the door behind him; when he’d been a child he used to pray to God that he could become invisible, that nobody would ever see him or hurt him again. Now he was twenty-four years old and desperately praying that people saw him, that they recognized his talents and his intelligence.

He walked to the back of the room hiding amongst lockers and benches, he seated himself on the cold concrete floor and pulled a small black book out of his jacket pocket. He flipped through the pages and looked at his notes, his poetry, and his riddles. Maybe someday they would have to notice him.


End file.
